“No!” Amber stepped between James and Sam. “This is all a setup. He’s going to help us rescue your Dad and put an end to the cult for good.” Amber pointed to the house, still somewhat visible through the trees. “If they don’t see you with the gun on him, of course.”
“Get in the truck,” Sam ordered. “Both of you. We’ll discuss it there, where they can’t see us.”
“Listen to him,” Amber implored. “You trust me,
right?”
Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. Amber was smart and pretty. James enjoyed her company, surprisingly enough. But she was related to Sam, however distantly. Maybe the story about the cult killing her uncle was made up, or maybe she wanted to buy her way back into their good graces with his life.
Amber looked at him, soft eyes wide. “Please, James.”
James lowered the gun. “All right. But I’m keeping this.” He kept his eyes on Sam. “You try anything, even once and—”
“You ever killed a man?” Sam growled. James didn’t immediately answer. “I have, at the Battle of Medina Ridge in the first war with Iraq. That was before you were even born. That means where war is concerned, I’m in charge. Get in the damn truck.”
James peered over Sam’s shoulder back at the house. The cultists were coming out the front door, including the ugly bastard now carrying the knife set under one arm and Dad’s old portable CD player under the other. They’d see what was going on. He didn’t know how many bullets this gun had, but surely it’d be enough to kill five people.
“James!” Amber hissed.
The people were walking down James’ yard to the car where they’d stashed Dad. It looked like there were only three. The rest must’ve returned to the woods.
“All right.” Amber quickly had the door open and the two scrambled inside. Sam brought up the rear as James squeezed himself into the narrow seat behind the driver. If Sam tried anything, he’d blow his brains out all over the dashboard.
Chapter Thirteen
Before James could react, Sam snatched the gun from his hands. He clicked a button on the side—must be the safety—and jammed it barrel-down into the black cup holder between his and Amber’s seats.
“I’ve got weapons for you at the house,” Sam declared. “But not this one.” Then the anger flowed away from Sam’s face, replaced by his previous amiability. “I’m sorry. I had to look like a loyal congregant to get you out of there.”
That didn’t make the pain from the various small injuries Sam had inflicted or the annoyance he’d snatched the gun back at first opportunity go away. “Fine.” He watched Sam as they pulled onto the road that led to Fayetteville Boulevard. “What the hell is going on here?”
“I gave Phil a piece of my mind,” Sam said. “And he sent his bullyboy Reed to my house. If Amber here hadn’t showed up, I don’t know what that piece of shit—begging your pardon—would have done.” He fell silent for a moment. “He wants to kill you and all your friends, anybody who might have seen it that afternoon. And he’s right pissed. He offered up a loyal congregant the other night. If he can’t get you, I imagine he’ll kill your pa.”
“Wait a second. Who’s Phil?”
“The leader of the congregation,” Amber said. “He owns the barbecue joint through the woods there.” She pointed toward the trees lining the southbound side of Fayetteville Boulevard. James’ gaze followed. Across from the corpse of what used to be a sushi restaurant and just before the first big strip mall flashed red brick and brown wood and a pickup truck’s bright blue. He swallowed. The evil mastermind was that close?
James’ hand crept toward the gun in the cup holder. He checked the movement. Now was not the time to get into another fight over that gun. “So what now?”
“My wife is calling the Edington cops.” Sam turned left onto the main drag. “The congregation has only one or two members there, and they’re low-ranked. But by the time they get out to the tree farm, your pa’ll be dead.”
James’ gut clenched. He remembered the thing rising out of the water, Bill impaled on the claws at the end of its tentacles. Blood pouring out of his mouth… He shook his head, driving the images away. That couldn’t happen to Dad. He wouldn’t let it.
“That’s where we come in,” Amber said. “We’re going to rescue him.”
That sounded like fun. These animals were murdering people, feeding them to a monster, and they’d been doing it for hundreds of years. They deserved to die, all of them, and he’d gladly be the one to do it.
Then a bucket of ice water crashed across his angry thoughts. “There are three of us. Three of us against a bunch of cultists and…” He swallowed. “It. What the hell are we supposed to do?”
“Nobody but Phil and Reed have any reason to not trust me, and Brenda has Reed under control. Both of you’ll get in the back of my truck, under a tarp, and I’ll get the three of us to the sanctuary.” He paused. “The place of sacrifice.”
Place of sacrifice. James didn’t like the sound of that one bit.
The truck crossed Fairmont and turned off past a Burger King. It wasn’t long until they pulled into a neighborhood of neat, white-painted single-story houses. They were a little small for James’ taste. One house had an old Accord sitting in the driveway. Sam pulled the truck in beside it. When the doors opened, Sam and Amber spilled out. James had to move quickly to catch up. He still kept an eye on Sam and, more importantly, the gun. Best be careful.
The first thing James saw when they got inside was a big man hogtied on his side by the fireplace, beside a tiny brown-haired woman who watched him with her grip tight on a butcher knife. Dried blood caked his face around his badly broken nose. “That Reed?”
Sam nodded. “Amber put him out.”
James looked at Amber. He raised an eyebrow. “You did that?”
Amber nodded. “Brass lamps can do a lot of damage when you hit someone a bunch of times in the head.”
James laughed. He hadn’t expected that from Amber. “Good job.”
The woman rose from the fireplace. She rushed over to Sam. “He’s been out the whole time. I called the police, but they haven’t come.”
James’ jaw nearly dropped. It had to have been half an hour at least since he’d gotten the text. He’d heard of slow response times, but Sam’s house was close to Fairmont Street. What the hell was going on?
“There’re congregants in the police department. Not many, but maybe they’re in a position to sit on the call. We’ll definitely have to hit the tree farm now, if they’re delayed.”
“Congregants?” the woman asked. “I don’t know anyone from church who’s in the Police Department.”
“Honey, not our church,” Sam said. “Something else.”
Realization danced across the woman’s face. “You mean…?”
Sam nodded gravely. Her jaw dropped. Anger crossed her features.
Oh boy. Here it comes…
“Sam, really? After all we’ve been through, now this?”
The woman sank back down onto the fireplace.
“Brenda, I know this is all a lot to take in. But not now. They went after the boy but only got his pa. Chances are they’re going to kill him instead. Feed him to a monster.”
James watched the conversation. Sam’s wife didn’t know what he was up to and this was how she found out? Assuming they came back alive, Sam would be sleeping on the couch for the next year or two at least.
Sam turned back to James. “You’ve been to the outskirts of the tree farm, but never inside. As you get closer to where it lurks, the ground gets wetter. You’ll need boots. Lucky you I’ve got two pairs.”
He stepped down a hallway and returned with two pairs of Army boots. He handed one set to James and knelt down to untie his own shoes.
“Wait a minute,” Amber interrupted. “I don’t get boots?”
Sam looked up at her as he pulled off his sneakers and put on the boots. “You’re going to guard the truck, in case anybody gets suspicious.”
“We’ll need more than my Beretta to take on the congregation. And Brenda’ll need that if Reed ever wakes up.”
Sam twirled the combination lock on the gun safe. Before that afternoon, James hadn’t handled a gun in years, not since he dropped out of the Boy Scouts sophomore year. Did Sam expect him to actually shoot it and hit what he was shooting at? Sweat beaded on his brow. Hit people? He’d had the gun on Sam, but he was pissed then. He’d have to kill men in cold blood now. This wasn’t paintball.
The safe popped open. Inside were a long rifle and a matched pair of shotguns with long tubes under the barrels. At the bottom were some curving plastic things half-buried in magazines of various types. Sam reached down and picked out two magazines that didn’t curve. “How much shooting do you do?”
James swallowed. “None in real life, not in years. Something tells me playing Call of Duty or HALO doesn’t count.”
Sam shook his head. “No sir it doesn’t. You’ll get the shotgun. You won’t need to be as accurate.”
That was somewhat better. He’d at least shot skeet before. He knew how to eject the shells and reload. Sam handed James the shotgun and a box of shells. James kept the weapon pointed straight up. He didn’t want to shoot off his own foot by mistake. Sam picked up one of the plastic devices from the bottom of the safe. It was then that James saw the marking “Front Toward Enemy.”
“Holy shit. Are those Claymores?” He’d seen pictures of them, but never one in the lethal plastic and ball-bearing flesh.
Sam nodded. “Yep. I’ve got some friends at the National Guard armory a couple streets over.”
“Friends who gave you Claymore mines?”
James sighed. “Loaned me the Claymore mines. Just in case. If I didn’t need them, I’d give them back. They do inspect what they’ve got, you know, sometimes without announcing it. One of those can turn most of the congregation to jelly if we have to. The other’s in case He shows up. Third’s a spare.”
James frowned. Did Sam detour on the way to his house to get those mines and then drive back? If he hadn’t done that, could he have gotten there earlier and kept the whole mess from happening?
Before James could ask, Sam set the Claymore down on the hardwood floor and took the rifle out of the safe. “You know what this is?”
James looked at it. “An M-16?” Were those even legal?
Sam shook his head. “AR-15. Close enough. An M-16 can fire full-auto.” He shook his head. “Never had much use for that myself. There’re better weapons for suppressing fire. But suppressing fire is what we’ll need today, so I’ll just keep pumping that trigger.”
Suppressing fire. Keep enemy heads down. Hopefully in the path of the Claymore explosion. “That’s the plan if the mine’s not enough. You lay down the suppressing fire and…”
“And you run in and untie your pa.” He hefted the second shotgun. “This’s for you, Amber.” He handed her the weapon. “God willing you won’t actually need it, but if you do, don’t hesitate one single second.”
Amber swallowed. “Got it.”
James looked at the gun safe. “I think we’ll need more guns. Once we rescue Dad, he’ll be able to shoot too and—”
“He ever shot? Recently?”
“I don’t know!”
“If he hasn’t, he’s a danger to himself and others.” He looked at the two teens. “Putting guns in your hands is tricky enough, but I can’t take them on all by my lonesome.”
He headed for the door. Only God knew what horrible shit those redneck cultists were doing to Dad—
“Wait.” Sam’s words stopped him in his tracks.
“What?” His head snapped Sam’s way. “We can’t wait! Every minute we wait, the more likely it is my Dad’s going to get fucking sacrificed!” He glared at Sam. “What do you do anyway? Rip out hearts, like in Indiana Jones, or maybe—”
“We need to pray,” Sam declared simply.
“Pray?” James didn’t want to disrespect someone else’s religion, but they really didn’t have time. And who was Sam going to pray to? The thing in the woods? The monstrosity that those cultists were going to sacrifice Dad to?
“Yes, pray.” Sam bowed his head and set the AR-15 on the ground. Then he raised his hands like some holy roller. Amber bowed her head. James sighed and bowed his head as well. Hopefully this’d be over quickly.
“I’ve gone to County Line since I came back from the Gulf, but I’d also worshiped an abomination in the woods,” Sam began. “It’s written to have no other gods before the Lord and not to serve two masters.” He paused. “Choose this day whom you will serve.”
James raised an eyebrow. The Ten Commandments weren’t hard to remember, but the other verses he quoted were more obscure. Despite himself, he was impressed.
“This day, I’m choosing who I’m going to serve,” Sam continued. “I’m going to serve the real Lord.”
“Amen,” Brenda said from behind them. James let his gaze drift toward her. What was she going to do in all this mess? Just stay home with a tied-up thug waiting for the police to come get him while her husband took two kids to war?
Sam lowered his hands. “All right. Let’s go.”
Chapter Fourteen
James and Amber lay in the back of Sam’s red pickup truck between two heaps of firewood covered by a blue plastic tarp. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so. Not yet at least.
The truck rumbled over gravel to a stop. James gripped his shotgun so tightly his hands started to hurt. They must be at the entrance to the tree farm now. There wasn’t much light under the tarp. The near-darkness made everything worse.
He swallowed. If they caught him, he was dead, and so were Sam and Amber. It wouldn’t be a clean death. The thing the locals worshiped in the woods liked its meat living. And the cultists would probably want to have fun with Amber first.
He looked over at Amber. He wasn’t going to let that happen. Not ever.
She reached over and took his hand. He gave her a squeeze. She smiled.
Feet tramped in the gravel outside. They both froze. James tried not to even breathe. If the cultists found them, he’d have to shoot them before they could react or he and Amber would both die. He swallowed. But then the cultists would know they had company. And Dad would die.
James thought back to when things were better. He and Dad had earned their SCUBA licenses together back when he was in middle school. They’d had their checkout dive at Destin, where the water was so clear one could see hundreds of feet all around. And Dad had hosted meetings of his Cub Scout pack and gone with him to Boy Scout summer camp, even that time it rained for most of the week.
Tears sprang to his eyes. He squeezed them shut. He wasn’t going to cry in front of Amber and he sure as hell wasn’t going to alert the cultists outside.
“You’re late,” someone growled beside the truck. “They’re going to offer up that damn city-slicker lawyer soon. You’ll get a poor seat for that.”
“My own fault,” Sam replied. “Brother Phillip sent me to help Brother Jeffrey in case he needed it catching that damn kid.”
The smile Sam’s clever lie brought to James’ face quickly blew away. The best lie was the one that was mostly true, but if the cultist who’d seen Sam kidnap James happened to be around, they’d be exposed right away. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to kill anybody. But he’d kill any number of these bastards to save Dad.
“Did Brother Jeffrey get the kid?” the man outside demanded. “My kid goes to school with him. Arrogant bastard won’t mix with the kids from around here. Hangs out only with those Atlanta folk. Thinks we’re all a
bunch of dumb hicks.”
This reddened James’ face. He didn’t know Amber all that well, but she wasn’t some dumb hick. And even Bill, who he was pretty sure was, hadn’t wanted him eaten. Who was the man talking about? He couldn’t remember any of the locals who’d wanted to hang out with him and his friends. Had he ever given anyone the cold shoulder?
“I reckon he did, Brother Tyler. At least that’s what he said on the phone. They do live out in the country a ways, so it might be a bit before they get here.”
“Not too soon I hope. I want the little shit to see his father die before he goes into His mouth.”
James scowled. Even if he had pushed away some local kid who wanted to befriend him, that man’s attitude was overkill. Hopefully he’d get a chance to put a shell into his face by the time everything was said and done today.
“All in His timing, Brother Tyler, all in His timing.”
A long moment passed. A bead of sweat trickled down James’ side. Were Sam and this jackass Tyler whispering with each other? His ears perked. Try as he might, he couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t move to get a better listen. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe the whole thing was a trap. And everything, including Sam’s gaudy Baptist prayer, was a charade to get him to let his guard down.
Then the truck jolted forward. A huge weight lifted off James’ chest. Whoever guarded the tree farm clearly hadn’t been suspicious of James’ cargo. Maybe they’d never had to deal with a suicide bomber. It’d be nice if someone went al-Qaeda on the cult and blew them all into chunky salsa, so long as it wasn’t him.
The gravel under the truck grew rougher. The rumbling loosened the tarp. Light spilled into his and Amber’s hiding place. When James finished blinking the stars from his vision, he saw Amber looking at him oddly.
“What?”
She laughed. “I like your freckles.” She paused. Even in the shadows, James could see her blush. “You know, I’ve always wanted to count them.”
James raised an eyebrow. “You’re counting my freckles?”
The Thing in the Woods Page 13